The Suggestion
by typingmonkey
Summary: At first, you just laugh The Suggestion off. You'd never cheat on Harry. Postwar and uh, not exactly fluffy. HarryGinny, ZachariasGinny. Complete.


You've had four firewhiskeys-- or is it five? You stopped counting, but there's no doubt that you're well and truly on your way to being drunk when Gail makes The Suggestion.

You're at the Hawke's Nest; all of the Harpies are, as is tradition every Thursday night during Quidditch season. Tonight, you've been complaining loudly and bitterly about the state of your relationship with Harry. You had a quarrel (if it can be called that) with him this morning. The details don't really matter; it's the principle of the thing. He's so distant, you say, welcoming the sympathy of your teammates. He makes you feel so insignificant, like he doesn't care anymore. The lack of passion, and the damn complacency, it's just killing you.

Tara nods, says she knows just how you feel, because she thinks her husband (of fifteen years, mind) is starting to lose interest. She suggests that you do something to spice things up, like cook a romantic dinner for Harry. You roll your eyes at her, but she doesn't notice. Tara may be a fantastic Chaser, but she's a complete and utter ditz.

And then Gail says it; The Suggestion-- the sentence that you'll soon come to hold responsible for changing your entire life.

_"Maybe you should have an affair."_

She's joking, or at least, you think she is. It's sometimes hard to tell with Gail. She has the quirky sense of humour so often found in Beaters. At first, you just laugh The Suggestion off. You'd never cheat on Harry. You've loved him since you were little more than a child. He was the first man you ever slept with. (Not the only man, but you don't really count Seamus because it was during the War, while you and Harry weren't together because he was too busy being noble.) Sure, things at home aren't perfect, but you don't want anyone else. Harry is everything to you.

The conversation moves forward, but you're left behind, still thinking about what Gail said. Another whiskey later and it's still playing on your mind, going around and around in circles, refusing to leave you alone.

And then _he_ walks in.

It takes you a few seconds to recognise him; after all, you haven't seen him since your sixth year at Hogwarts, before you left to help with the war effort. Zacharias Smith is even more handsome than he was then, but you can tell from his self-assured smile that he's well aware of the fact. He sees you, looks you up and down, and smirks. It's almost like he's daring you to some over and speak with him. You tell your team mates that you've spotted an old school friend. Gail notices the hesitation before you use the term friend, and she raises an eyebrow. You just ignore her and head over to where Smith is sitting with a few people you're unfamiliar with.

You exchange pleasantries and pull up a seat beside his. Somewhere between him detailing his job as an Obliviator and his rant about Rufus Scrimgeour, you place your hand on Smith's thigh. His eyes widen in surprise for a moment, but he covers it quickly. It's your turn to smirk; you're sure he's understood your message. It's a relief, because it'll make this easier. You think that if you talk too much, you might lose your nerve, and this has become something that you want, something that you need.

Another ten minutes of conversation that you barely hear and hardly participate in, and you make your excuses. You leave the table and head towards the exit. Gail is frowning at you, signaling for you to come over, but you just smile blithely and keep moving. You're not going to back out, not now. You turn and meet Smith's eye, making sure that he's going to follow.

You wait outside for maybe five minutes and then he's there, wearing that goddamn smirk again and you're tempted to hex him. You kiss him instead, hard and demanding, staking your claim as the one in control of the situation.

"Your place," you whisper and hold on to him tightly while he complies with your command, apparating you both to a garden path in front of a small townhouse. You kiss him again, for longer; you explore his mouth with your tongue. It's been so long –years– since you've kissed anyone other than Harry but you don't let yourself compare. You focus on the here and now, on the thrill, and on Smith's hands clutching at you.

You press closer to him, wanting to feel his erection pressing against your belly. You break away after a moment, both gasping for breath and he drags you by the wrist up to the front door. It springs open with a quick swish of his wand and then you're inside and he has you pinned to the closed door. He kisses you, hungrily, like he can't get enough of you. He sucks at a spot below your ear and you make a fleeting mental note to heal it later. Then, his hands are pulling at your robes, tugging them off you and discarding them somewhere on the floor. You step out of your shoes and stand there for a moment, absorbing his gaze.

You grow impatient quickly though, and you order him to fuck you, and he does, on his lounge by the dim light of a single floor lamp. He marks you again, sucking and biting at your neck, your collarbone, your breasts. He complies with every command you make; _harder, faster, deeper._ He brings you to orgasm with his hand while he thrusts into you.

He lies next to you, half on top of you, for a while after he comes, presumably too spent to move any further. What you've done finally starts to sink into your consciousness. You actually did it, you cheated on Harry. You've betrayed the person you love most in the world, and for what? A quick fuck-- something that meant nothing. The guilt threatens to overwhelm you, but you're not going to cry, not in front of Smith.

You get up and ask directions to his bathroom. Second on the left he tells you, and you head off into the hallway, gathering your scattered clothing on the way. You dress quickly; you wash your face, and administer a few quick healing charms to the vibrant red marks on your skin.

When you go back into the lounge room, Smith still hasn't moved. He looks up at you and asks if you're leaving so soon. He's smug and your wand is drawn before you even think about it.

"You're not going to tell a soul."

His gaze shifts from your wand to your face and back again, and he nods reluctantly. You need to get out, so that's enough for you, andit'll have to be enough. Yyou turn to leave.

"Have a nice night, Ginny!" he calls out, laughter in his voice. You slam the door behind you.

You wonder if Gail is still at the Hawke's Nest. You think you want to talk to her, tell her what happened. Maybe she'll know what you should do. In a way though, Gail is to blame for your current predicament. If she hadn't made The Suggestion, well, you wouldn't be standing on some strange street, still slightly drunk and shaking after being fucked by Zacharias Smith. Suddenly, you don't want to talk to Gail anymore.

You apparate home, to the flat you share with Harry. You climb into bed with him, after a long shower. (You scrubbed yourself almost raw. You still don't feel clean.) As he curls around you in his sleep, so warm and familiar and _comforting_, you finally start to cry.

You've ruined everything, and you have no idea what to do.


End file.
